And I keep talking to him because the part of me that still loves him, and probably always will, is so scared. Scared of what he is seeing and experiencing, scared of all of the possibilities of what might happen, and scared of what would happen if I stopped. There are other people he can talk to, and probably other people that he does talk to. But it’s just hard to know if you’re that person helping to tow them through, and you don’t want to stop just in case.

Before, I was that person, and that’s why it concerns me so. I know that there are all of the men and women that are overseas with him, seeing and experiencing the things he is going through; but so much of what they do is about strength and being able to get through, and I know that he at least feels that you can’t talk about these things. I know that he has his family, but they’re so at wits end that he plays the strong, everything is fine card to them as well. As he says, they worry enough as it is.

I continue to take the calls, stay on the line, because the part of me that still loves him needs so badly for him to be alright. That’s not something that I can just let go of.

There’s this tone in his voice now, disheartened and angry, that makes him hard to recognize and it just breaks my heart. Still, I continue to strain to hear over static and lags between speaking and receiving messages, because he needs someone and he chose me. Who am I to betray him of that?

He continues to voice how he wants things to go back to how they were before, that it was a mistake, and he didn’t stop loving me even though he thought it would be better for me if he did… and when he gets like this, I really can’t listen, can’t speak, can’t think. But I stay on that line because I need so much for him to be alright.

Already I feel myself falling back into place, back into rank if you will, that shadow of support behind him. Already he’s returned focus of my thoughts. It just scares me that as time goes on, how completely I will fall back into file.

The sadness and the things he says are breaking my heart, and I worry that he’s finding his way back into it.

People seem to be not enough for each other anymore. What you have with who you’re with seldom seems to be enough for a lot of people you come across. There is just this constant search for something better. As soon as anything begins to go wrong, people feel better to cut away that they do to put effort into fixing things. It fits well into our consumer technology. As soon as a person doesn’t get what they want how and when they want it, they are quick to discard and find anew.

I’m not saying that settling for less is a good thing, nor that being unable to let go of something that cannot be fixed is healthy. It is just that love, like life, is not always easy; taking the easy way out as soon as any obstacle comes up can lead to missing out on really great things.

Call me a romantic, I am. Call me idealistic, that’s probably true too. I just don’t understand why some people are so quick to cut down, berate, or discard people that are important to them. They can’t support each other, they tear each other apart. It’s just completely foreign to my sensibilities.

First called. From half a world away. Upset, disjointed, not himself; that agitated work-self.

Trying initially for common banter. Seeking something normal, comforting. I haven’t been able to talk to him since the decision he made. Banter isn’t common, it isn’t normal, not anymore. So he didn’t find it comforting.

I should have been there for him, to help. That is what I’m good for. What he is going through is far from easy. But I just couldn’t pretend that we were okay.

On any level.

He gave up on the lightness. And, blunt as always, revealed his purpose.

I miss you. More than you can know. I need you. I was wrong. I am so sorry.

The man I can’t even talk to properly anymore, for the pain of that break. After he’s been gone for so long. So far away. He tells me this.

I’m really beginning to question whether or not I am emitting some kind of code or have a sign stamped on my forehead that other people can see but I can’t.

I’m getting ahead of myself, I’ll explain…

First is in the army.

Fearless, as I’ve learned just recently, is also in the army.

Now on the basic level, this is not a bad thing. Actually, it’s a great thing. I have a huge amount of respect for people in the armed forces, am not the type to discount all they do for the country they serve, and I admit something about men in uniform makes me melt.

But the experience I had with First, with him leaving on deployment, us making the decision to stay together through that, and his subsequent decision that it hurt too much to do so, has left a mark. And the commonality through work, all of the things they go through, makes me wary of Fearless. I know that being enlisted shouldn’t change anything, and that I am over-thinking this way too much (seriously, way too much).

The friends of mine that Fearless also knows are rather up in arms. That group is rather close, they’re like brothers to me, lots and lots of brothers. They saw me hurt last time, see the similarity now, and by the looks of it aren’t about to let it happen again.

I wasn’t so concerned initially when I found out, I just thought it was a strange coincidence. But now the boys are all giving me that look that says, “Are you sure that you’re looking to get into this stuff all over again?”

And they’re right. I hate to sound so weak, but First broke me into all kinds of little pieces. Rather logically, I believe, I’d like to avoid that happening again. That similarity between them is unnerving because the possibilities are so much the same. Just as the fates would have it, who do I meet and kind of get involved with? That’s why I’m wondering about this code that I’m emitting.

It wouldn’t be fair at all to say no to Fearless just because of what happened. It would be wrong to write anyone off just because they happen to have a particular career, and just because he and First have that in common doesn’t mean that the same things would happen. It doesn’t, I know.

Fearless is great. He makes me laugh and he seems to be everything I’ve dreamed of. He’s even the one saying that he doesn’t want to push the matter of us being an ‘us’ before I’m sure I am comfortable, which is something not a lot of people I’ve encountered are willing to do.

Still, it feels like I’ve got some kind of message or code beaming out that is advertising for men in uniform, though the glue’s still drying in the cracks left by the last one. So I worry, I over think, I question, and the whole time I’m also scared that I will spend too much time doing this and harm something that could be really good.

The Sandmonkey wrote a beautiful post a while ago, The Two Cups, that really struck a chord in my mind.

There was a particular man in my life, we will call him First, who definitely has a filled love cup in my heart at one time, but whose pain cup is kept at a precarious balance of full in proportion to empty. It was a cup he made sure to watch over, scoop off murky water when the levels rose too high, because he also had a love cup for me, and it is what a person dear to your heart should do.

The thing is that, those we love are the ones who hurt us the most, they don’t mean to (at least I should hope they don’t), but because of the love we hold for them, it stings the most and leaves the darker mark when they inflict pain.

First, not by purpose, but because of his dreams and his career and preparing to leave for a very far away country to go and save the world, kept the pain cup with his name on it filled to a level that had me feeling it all of the time. Day in and day out there was a throb from a wound which was trying to heal but couldn’t because it was constantly rubbed raw.

There is love, love that wipes everything else into details, love that lets me know that no matter what we will be alright because of each other. I fell into the Love cup he filled for me as if it was a well and treaded water happily, but situations beyond our control would add an extra splash or two of pain, tipping the scales to the Pain cup in which I was leaden and could not stay afloat.

In the end, being the man he was, he did not do well to feel his pain himself or see the pain in me and not be able to do anything about it. He decided for the both of us that no cups would be for the best. But that’s not really the way love works, is it? No cups is not a viable option, or at least between us it wasn’t.

For a while, it hurt pretty bad, without a love cup to look forward to and just a pain cup slowly draining.As they say, time heals, and as the last cup drained the hurt became less. But still, “Quod me nutrit, me destruit,” no?